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Hero and Leander
Hero and Leander
Hero and Leander
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Hero and Leander

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Christopher Marlowe was one of the most famous playwrights in all of literature.  Marlowe's tragic plays, noted for their blank verse and unique protagonists, were a great influence on the legendary William Shakespeare.Some of Marlowe's classics include Doctor Faustus, Edward II, and Tamburlaine the Great.


Hero and Leander is an epic poem based off the Greek myth of two lovers and their tragic fate.A table of contents is included.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 22, 2018
ISBN9781537804842
Hero and Leander
Author

Christopher Marlowe

Christopher Marlowe, also known as Kit Marlowe, was an English playwright, poet and translator of the Elizabethan era. Marlowe is among the most famous of the Elizabethan playwrights.

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    Book preview

    Hero and Leander - Christopher Marlowe

    HERO AND LEANDER

    ..................

    Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman

    KYPROS PRESS

    Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2016 by Christopher Marlowe and George Chapman

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    Hero and Leander

    To the Right Worshipful Sir Thomas Walsingham, Knight.

    The First Sestiad

    The Second Sestiad

    The Third Sestiad

    The Fourth Sestiad

    The Fifth Sestiad

    The Sixth Sestiad

    HERO AND LEANDER

    ..................

    TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL SIR THOMAS WALSINGHAM, KNIGHT.

    ..................

    SIR, WE THINK NOT OURSELVES discharged of the duty we owe to our friend when we have brought the breathless body to the earth; for, albeit the eye there taketh his ever-farewell of that beloved object, yet the impression of the man that hath been dear unto us, living an after-life in our memory, there putteth us in mind of farther obsequies due unto the deceased; and namely of the performance of whatsoever we may judge shall make to his living credit and to the effecting of his determinations prevented by the stroke of death. By these meditations (as by an intellectual will) I suppose myself executor to the unhappily deceased author of this poem; upon whom knowing that in his lifetime you bestowed many kind favours, entertaining the parts of reckoning and worth which you found in him with good countenance and liberal affection, I cannot but see so far into the will of him dead, that whatsoever issue of his brain should chance to come abroad, that the first breath it should take might be the gentle air of your liking; for, since his self had been accustomed thereunto, it would prove more agreeable and thriving to his right children than any other foster countenance whatsoever. At this time seeing that this unfinished tragedy happens under my hands to be imprinted, of a double duty, the one to yourself, the other to the deceased, I present the same to your most favourable allowance, offering my utmost self now and ever to be ready at your worship’s disposing.

    Edward Blunt.

    Note: The first two Sestiads were written by Marlowe; the last four by Chapman, who supplied also the Arguments for the six Sestiads.

    THE FIRST SESTIAD

    ..................

    The Argument of the first Sestiad

    Hero’s description and her love’s;

    The fane of Venus where he moves

    His worthy love-suit, and attains;

    Whose bliss the wrath of Fates restrains

    For Cupid’s grace to Mercury:

    Which tale the author doth imply.

    On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood,

    In view and opposite two cities stood,

    Sea-borderers, disjoin’d by Neptune’s might;

    The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.

    At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,

    Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,

    And offer’d as a dower his burning throne,

    Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon.

    The outside of her garments were of lawn,

    The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;

    Her wide sleeves green, and border’d with a grove,

    Where Venus in her naked glory strove

    To please the careless and disdainful eyes

    Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;

    Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,

    Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.

    Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,

    From whence her veil reach’d to the ground beneath:

    Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,

    Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives:

    Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,

    When ’twas the odour which her breath forth cast;

    And there for honey bees have sought in vain,

    And, beat from thence, have lighted there again.

    About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone,

    Which, lighten’d by her neck, like diamonds shone.

    She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind

    Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,

    Or warm or cool them, for they took delight

    To play upon those hands, they were so white.

    Buskins of shell, all silver’d, used she,

    And branch’d with blushing coral to the knee;

    Where sparrows perch’d, of hollow pearl and gold,

    Such as the world would wonder to behold:

    Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,

    Which, as she went, would cherup through the bills.

    Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d,

    And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.

    But this is true; so like was one the other,

    As he imagin’d Hero was his mother;

    And oftentimes into her bosom flew,

    About her naked neck his bare arms threw,

    And laid his childish head upon her breast,

    And, with still panting rock, there took his rest.

    So lovely-fair was Hero, Venus’ nun,

    As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,

    Because she took more from her than she left,

    And of such wondrous beauty her bereft:

    Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer’d wrack,

    Since Hero’s time hath half the world been black.

    Amorous Leander, beautiful and young,

    (Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung,)

    Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none

    For whom succeeding times make greater moan.

    His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,

    Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,

    Would have allur’d the venturous youth of Greece

    To hazard more than for the golden fleece.

    Fair Cynthia wish’d his arms might be her sphere;

    Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.

    His body was as straight as Circe’s wand;

    Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand.

    Even as

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